


A HOLE OTHER LEVEL

by Queenoftheuniverse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Dirty Talk, M/M, Peeping, voyerism, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock seems a bit rumpled these days...what's he up to? Oh...dear...really? THAT!!?? What a dirty pervert!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A HOLE OTHER LEVEL

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmandaThePan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaThePan/gifts).



A HOLE OTHER LEVEL

John began to suspect a thing or two was a bit off about Sherlock. He seemed a bit dishevelled and rumpled lately, like he'd had too many nicotine patches and needed to run his hands over his shirt or through his hair more times than necessary, sending things into disarray. But he had not got his patch prescription filled and a quick check assured John the Detective was on track with his usual usage.

So something else was keeping the Consulting Detective distracted. Maybe a new case, or a cold case had him puzzled. As long as it wasn't cocaine John was happy.

John rarely went out now, after Mary disappeared and the baby had been fake. It seemed too much bother. But he went out to a seventies party one night and, when he came back, that was when he discovered what had kept Sherlock so interested.

John had gone to the party as the Biker from The Village People. He'd borrowed leather trousers and leather vest from Greg, and aviator glasses from his own collection. His army boots had done nicely to finish the outfit off. He got many lovely comments from the people he was partying with, and one or two phone numbers sat snugly in his back pocket. Not that he was interested. He had gone off relationships after the whole Mary thing.

When he got home, at the respectable hour of ten to midnight, John was certain Sherlock sniffed him when he passed him in the kitchen, on the way to his room. John paused, and looked back, but Sherlock had his face glued to a microscope, radiating innocence. John quickly sniffed the vest and found a pleasant leather smell. Nothing unusual about that. Leather smelled really nice.

So he continued on to his room. His plan was to disrobe and fold the borrowed clothes nicely, before wrapping a robe around himself and having a nice long shower.

But when he got to his room his bed was calling. Well, maybe disrobe and rest for a minute. His ears were still ringing and he was tired. Luckily he didn't need to be at the clinic the next day so he could sleep in, but a shower could always wait until the morning.

He stretched like a cat, going up onto his tippy-toes....and that's when he heard a noise. A light thump against his wall. He put it down to Sherlock being Sherlock, because who the hell knew with Sherlock Holmes?

John proceeded to sit on his bed and undo his boots. He slid them off and kicked them under the bed. His socks followed, and were tossed into a corner, ready to be taken out and washed in the morning. John was ever the soldier and yes, those socks could stay there tonight, but in the morning they would be dealt with.

John stood and undid the leather vests string. He had made a sly comment to Greg about how "gay" the vest was, cross tied and black as it was, but Greg assured him EVERYONE loved a nice leather vest, boy OR girl.

He was just sliding it down his arms when he heard the thump again. From the wall near his bookshelf. He paused, just for a millisecond, and then continued. Once he had the vest off, he folded it in half and crossed to his chair....which just happened to be near his ceiling height cherrywood bookshelf. As he laid the vest over the back of the chair he looked down and noticed a tiny bit of light shining from the smallest of holes. A shadow moved over it and suddenly. John knew exactly what was going on here...

Sherlock was peeping him.

That was Sherlocks new addiction.

Sherlock liked to watch John undress, wander naked, interfere with himself and sleep. It was creepy, and sexy, and very Sherlock....

And damn if that did not send a bolt of lust spiking to the Doctors balls.

So he leaned against the shelf, forehead on his forearm, and tugged at the snug crotch of Greg's leather trousers. He made a comforted sound and was sure he heard a hitch in breathing on the other side of the wall. Pervert!

John rubbed at his hardening crotch now, because wasn't this new and thrilling? The marble statue Sherlock Holmes got off on voyerism. Well, it ran in the family didn't it? John still remembered the night Mycroft's cameras followed him...

John paused to unzip his trousers. Slowly. He shivered in appreciation because no matter how much Sherlock may or may like perving on John Watson, John Watson knew for damn sure he loved the idea that Sherlock was watching him. Maybe touching himself, biting those lips and half closing those magical eyes of his...

John let out a tiny moan and rubbed himself over his tight cotton boyleg pants. He had chosen grey merle that night because they were his favourite pair and the most comfy. So plain but held him so nice. Even hard as he was....and getting harder.

There was heavy breathing behind the wall now. John liked to think it was Sherlocks, but it could have been his own. What would Sherlock do if John whispered a name now....Molly, perhaps, or Greg or -Gods forbid Mycroft!- Just for a laugh....what would Sherlock do?

John delved his hand into his pants now and stroked himself. Slowly. Rubbing the tip of his cock. He was sure he heard something rhythmic on the other side. Sherlocks belt perhaps, jingling in time to those long fingers wanking that long shaft...

"Christo!" John whispered, pushing back from the bookshelf and tugging languidly on his cock a few times, letting Sherlock get a damn good look. Then he deftly slid the leather trousers off, and ducked to the side of the bookshelf....

He gently shook the piece of furniture and then suddenly rocked it very hard.

"Shit! Ow! Fuck fuck..." He cried, as if in distress, then shook the bookshelf again. "FUCK! OW!SHERLOCK, SHERLOCK!!" 

He snickered when he heard the stumbling and fumbling from behind the wall, and then Sherlock was slamming the bedroom door back and running in, cheeks flushed, hair everywhere and belt absent.

"John, are you-" was all the lanky git got out before John was on him. He grabbed Sherlock by the throat, whirled him and choke slammed him to the wall beside the bookshelf. 

"Dirty man, watching me through a hole like that." John hissed, ripping at the button of Sherlocks tailored trousers. "Peeping me like a disgusting man in a bus station loo. You like that, you filthy pervert?"

By now John had Sherlocks trousers undone. He ripped the zip open and Sherlock responded, struggling, both his hands wrapped around the wrist of the hand that had him pinned by the neck to the wall.

"John..." He croaked, face red and eyes glistening, tugging uselessly at Johns iron grip. "It's not-"

"Shut up." John snapped, and shoved his hand into Sherlocks pants. Just as he suspected, the Detective was still hard. He HAD been wanking to Johns body through the peep hole. "Oh you filthy whore." 

Sherlock wriggled like a fish on a hook, and John relented, easing off the mans throat to allow him to breathe a tiny tad easier. John could feel Sherlocks pulse beneath his fingertips, racing.

"You like this Sherlock?" John said then, working Sherlocks cock with unrelenting, quick, tight strokes. Sherlock all but danced his shoes on the wall, hands still on Johns wrist, but thighs opening, allowing John access. 

"John-"

"How long? How long have you been watching me? A week? A month? Since I moved back in?"

Sherlock gave a quick nod, still twitching and now gasping quick breaths as John took his cock tighter in his fist, sliding the Detectives own pre come over his hot and desperate hardness.

"I moved back in six months ago you depraved pervert." John said then, muscles in his biceps rippling, one arm holding Sherlock still, the other pulling at Sherlock, tugging him at a pace the detective could barely keep up with.

"John!"

"All this time Sherlock, watching me, your own private peep show. Did you like it when I took my clothes off? When I slept? When I fucked my own fist and came all over myself? You have seen it all haven't you Sherlock? Watched all my secrets and had it off with yourself while doing it."

"Please-" Sherlocks voice was a mere whisper, and his arse was hitting the wall rhythmically as John pulled on him harder. Sherlocks hips couldn't keep still and he was forced into letting John take what he wanted, including his air. 

".....Dirty  
..... perverted  
..... fucking  
......little  
......peeping  
.......whore." John whispered...

and Sherlock came. 

His arms flopped to his sides, his eyes rolled closed and gushes of come spilled from his cock into his pants and onto Johns fist. He made desperate gasping little moans, his fingers scrabbling at the wallpaper, his shoes still dancing but John held on to both throat and cock until the last drop was drained.

Then John let go.

Sherlock dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, laying against the wall awkwardly, legs splayed out, gasping for breath, face red, hair mussed and come all over the front of his shirt.

He looked divine.

John grabbed a handful of Sherlocks hair and tore the mans head back to make him stare up at him. Sherlock offered no resistance, merely grunted a bit.

"Next time Sherlock, just ask." He said. "and maybe....just maybe..." Then John winked, leaving Sherlock with no closure.

John strode from the room, leaving the Detective in his own filth.

Later, much later, Sherlock was allowed to put his sinful mouth to good use but for now he had to know just who was in control of this situation.

It was John.

It would always be John.

#


End file.
